Schizophrenia is a largely misunderstood brain disorder that has more to do with your genes than you might think. Although studies show that exposure during infancy and early childhood to malnutrition, certain toxins, and severe illness, like Scarlet Fever, are also major factors. Taking psychotropic drugs can cause schizophrenic episodes, too. Those with the genes have a 10% chance of developing the disorder. But the chances go up exponentially if you have a parent, grandparent, or sibling with the disease.The myths surrounding schizophrenia often overshadow the truth. Like, schizophrenics have multiple personalities. Or, that schizophrenics are dangerous. During a schizophrenic break, a person with schizophrenia may become violent but it’s more likely that violence will be self-inflicted. Feeling depressed and suicidal are common for those who suffer with what is a life-long, chronic disease. The first signs of schizophrenia can be seen between the ages of 17 and 30. It is generally more common in males than females. A schizophrenic person usually sees people or objects others don’t. Like a phantom cow appearing before your truck while driving down the road. Or the sudden manifestation of a Confederate soldier in the hallway. Feeling invisible fingers touch you, or hearing things no one else can hear, like children’s voices singing, are also symptoms. Feeling a sense of paranoia, like suddenly becoming suspicious of the motivations of people who care for you or feeling like people are out to get you, are also symptoms. Becoming socially isolated, not brushing your teeth or showering frequently, a tendency to smoke, or make other poor lifestyle choices, like abuse of drugs, alcohol or other kinds of stimulants, are also signs. Having anxiety about the decisions you make, feeling phobic, dealing with frequent family conflicts, difficulty staying in school, being a victim of aggressive behavior, even poverty, are all part of schizophrenia. Relationships with schizophrenics are possible but very difficult to maintain. In the event of an argument or disagreement, or any kind of stress, a schizophrenic can experience a break and completely cut off contact. Any attempt to get in touch with the schizophrenic will only be perceived with further suspicion, adding to their sense of fear and paranoia surrounding the disagreement or stressful event. The best you can do is nothing at all. If the schizophrenic contacts you again, try to avoid being judgmental and do your best to be supportive.

Schizophrenics also have difficulty expressing themselves, or responding appropriately to questioning. They may withdraw completely, or, use language in an unexpected way, like developing reassuring phrases meant for repetition Treatment usually includes a combination of talk therapy and medication. Having a healthy, loving, supportive relationship is also crucial. Being friends with a schizophrenic can be heartbreaking if that individual has not sought the help of doctors. It is easy for others to take advantage of someone with schizophrenia. But unless you are an immediate family member, or spouse, you cannot help a schizophrenic get well. And you may not always recognize when an individual is afflicted with the disorder until you personally see them on a daily basis. The reality-disconnect schizophrenics experience can be viewed in a number of ways by an outsider. If you’re not a mental health professional, it can be months before you begin to put the pieces together, and by then, it may be too late to help.Mental illness is an increasing issue in the United States. The 21st century has brought the highest number of people on anti-depressants and sleep medication than any other point in history. Though technology allows us to access infinite amounts of information in an almost infinite number of ways, there is still a general lack of knowledge and acceptance of mental illness in society. But for those who have to live with it, it’s undeniably terrifying. For more information on schizophrenia, please visit schizophrenia.com And no matter what difficulty you may be facing, whether it’s with mental illness or something else, get the help you need. Find a friend you trust. Talk to them. You can live a healthy, productive life if you have the right support—no matter what. Everyone deserves to live a life of love, a life with joy, and peace, and happiness. It is very possible. More than that, it is very probable, too. There is always hope….

Pygmalion, a character in Ovid’s (43 BCE-18 AD) Metamorphoses, was a Cypress-born sculptor who carved a beautiful, life-sized woman out of marble. Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, brings Pygmalion’s creation to life in appreciation of his efforts. The artist and his art then fall in love, marry, and have a daughter. Ovid named his statue-turned-lover Galatea. The name is Greek for “one who is milk white.” Modern audiences may translate that meaning as innocence, purity. Is there anything more irresistible? Finding what appears to be a pure heart in this world, a virgin of sorts, is such a rarity. Innocence in the age of technology is nearly impossible. But we still look for it. We look for the tabula rasa, that pure, uncut marble that we can then sculpt and form into something beautiful. It’s an experiential version of nature versus nurture. An extension of the human need for permanence in a world full of illusion. A way to prove to ourselves that our birth is of no consequence.But science is increasingly challenging that positional theory. Genetics continues to emerge as a pre-determined road map for our lives. We have a sweet tooth not because we grew up with dessert but because it’s genetically pre-programmed. Like our belief in something greater than ourselves. Or the people we find attractive. We accept such fated moments when it relates to our individuality, like being born with certain talents. Or not. Some of us have natural drive. Others are born lazy. How we eat, if we exercise, who we enjoy spending time with, and ultimately, how we live our lives, is all because of the genes contained in our DNA. Intelligence is one of those very factors. People who have it can be born in any social situation, no matter how poverty-stricken, no matter how abusive, and with effort, after applying their natural gifts, can rise above. Seems that the ability to persevere is genetic, too. So what does that mean for those without the DNA for success???Whether you’re born in the rural South to uneducated factory workers, or in a more urban environment with similar circumstances, socio-economics dictates it’s more likely you will grow up in a poverty-stricken and abusive household. It’s also likely you will not be educated either. And as an uneducated adult with fewer choices, you will then continue the cycle of frustrated poverty and abuse, with an increased chance for involvement with criminals/in criminal activity. But in the United States, it’s not just a social problem. It’s not just economic. Because, in the States, regardless of finances or social standing, everyone has the opportunity to be educated. It’s just of matter of starting the process. And, of course, believing in yourself. Once you start that journey, statistics show you will make $1,000,000 more over the course of your lifetime. You will be a home owner. You will have a better quality of life. Your children, and grandchildren, will, too. President Obama is a great example of that fact.Though there are definite disadvantages to being born into poverty and abuse, your genes determine the “choices” you make from there. People with intelligent genes will seek out opportunity to better themselves and their lives. When they finally find an open door, they’re smart enough to walk through it. Like Eliza Doolittle in George Bernard Shaw’s (1856-1950) play, Pygmalion, based on Ovid’s original tale of man’s ability to create his own destiny. Shaw’s play sees a professor, Henry Higgins, elevating a poor, uneducated girl with criminal relatives from the streets to high society. During Eliza Doolittle’s education, both the student and the teacher fall in love. But because each comes from very different worlds, miscommunications lead to Eliza leaving. Higgins sees it as a betrayal; he expanded and improved Eliza’s world. He gave her everything. Yet, she still walked away…. Higgins, an intellectual, begins to reason that Eliza’s leaving was for the best, given where she came from. She would never have been happy living in his world. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink, right??? Shaw’s original ending was meant to show Eliza’s independence, that she had somehow successfully evolved. Higgins triumphantly proclaims, “Galatea!” as if he put the spark in an individual who was nothing more than a piece of lifeless stone. But that ending was merely an example of patriarchal idealism—apologies, Mr. Shaw. In reality, Higgins would not have felt triumph any more than Ovid’s Pygmalion would have rejoiced had his beloved Galatea come to life at his hands, then, fell in love with another man. What kind of woman, or man, would take so much from another human being, walk away, and feel okay about that? Not the kind that’s made of stone. No, no…it’s the kind made of lies. Our character is who we are. But things like loyalty and courage are also predetermined by genetic traits. When we act without either, it’s because we lack the DNA. It’s like expecting a worm to be gallant. Or a pig to recognize the value in a rare pearl. But there are a lot of worms out there who pretend to be more than they are. And pigs who try on expensive pearls before going back to their 564-square foot trailer parked amongst overgrown weeds, abandoned vehicles, feral felines, and wandering packs of stray dogs.If Eliza had the intelligence to learn all she did, despite where she came from, she would have also had enough intelligence to go back to the professor who opened up her world, making her a better person. With gratitude, not attitude, she would have brought him back to life in return. In fact, that is ultimately how Shaw’s play ends. It was translated to the silver screen in 1964 with Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews as “My Fair Lady.” Though Eliza initially leaves the professor who expanded her horizons for the possibility of something else, she knows she is in love with her teacher. The life he introduced her to was what she really wanted, or she would have never gone with him in the first place. Higgins wasn’t perfect, but those imperfections were part of why Eliza loved him. Part of what made them soul mates. Higgins, on the other hand, feels betrayed by Eliza. He is confounded by her behavior, given their connection. Even though he misses her terribly, Higgins determines that, should Eliza return to beg his forgiveness, he would turn her away. Despite his heart turning hard, Higgins still recognizes that life with Eliza was better than life without her. The recognition leaves room for the possibility of a reunion. However unlikely.So, what happens next? Just as Higgins begins to settle back into a routine, Eliza shows up. Even though the professor understands the student has returned for what are probably the wrong reasons, that same attractive innocence is still as irresistible as it was when the two first found each other. Ego and pride are also genetic. So is the ability to tell right from wrong. Eliza may have first left the professor simply out of panic, an expected (if not immature) response given her socio-economic background. And because Eliza is able to figure that out pretty quickly—thanks to those intelligent genes—Higgins can ultimately forgive the betrayal. But what if we applied a dash of real life to the rather magical Hollywood ending? What if Eliza took everything the professor gave her, the clothing, the luggage, the travel, the education, the culture, the new social and professional contacts and opportunities, the hopes and dreams, her new sense of confidence, and walked away without so much as a "thank you," never to return???She’d prove my point. Genes trump environment. You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl. Or, apparently, the boy….

Yeah, that's me. I'm in a $5 bikini I purchased from Target at an end-of-season sale. On my body, that $5 bikini looks like a designer original. And I'm 43.

If you're a straight guy between the ages of 19 and 90, that body, and my face, are pretty much your ideal. And I cook, too! Not to mention my fun, open, generous, and adventurous spirit. Oh, and lest I forget my professional prowess. I'm also pretty hilarious--like, an actual comedian. I've stood on stage with amazing talents from your favorite television shows, comic books, and movies. My books are published in nine languages and sold in 30 countries. Did I mention I can whip off 30 or more miles a day on the bike??? Stellar stamina, people. There's no man (or gay woman) on the planet who'd be moronic enough to say no to any of that. I mean, if someone did say no, they're either truly stupid, completely insane, or some combination thereof.

I have lots of lesbian fans, too...ladies, I haven't forgotten you! But we all know I like men. And men like me. A lot. For good reason, too. My boobs have their own celebrity fan club. Even got a standing ovation at Atlanta Comic Con. They are fabulous after all....

How does any woman follow an act like me? You can't. Its like bringing a bow to a gun fight.

I haven't had many lovers in my life; but I guarantee each one fondly remembers our time together. And when I say fondly, I mean that when that select group of men think of me, a raging, well, you know, is the likely result. Just like the fan boys taking screen shots of my bikini-selfie above right now, those few lovers undoubtedly still recall with total clarity special moments with me, perhaps even when they're with their wives, or alone in their bathrooms while the family visits grandma. Sorry, ladies, everyone has to deal with the gorgeous ex that got away. Even me. Although in my case, it was the girl next door deal. But I've never been threatened by any other woman. Because I have no reason to be. And neither do you. Insecurity is unproductive. It's also rather ugly.

My arrows may not be able to pierce steel, but they don't have to, do they? I think it was Manu Bennett (yes, THAT Manu Bennett) who once called me "sexual napalm." And while that comment certainly made me laugh, I'm very much human. With plenty of physical flaws. Like the scars I've endured from cancer treatments. Or the fact that one leg is slightly smaller than the other, also a result of cancer treatments.

The things that make me beautiful, sexy, and ultimately, something every sane, heterosexual man (and gay woman) from 19-90 will always want and never forget, are the things you can't see. Things that will never grow old, never die. Things you can't kill. Like the fierceness I show in both loyalty and love. If a man shows me the same, he is lucky indeed. But when I'm taken for granted, I know my value and will demand it be recognized. My character is what I'm describing. I have endless courage, and will honor my word. I'm unshakable. I will protect the people I love to my dying breathe. And once I am your friend, I will forever be your friend. Until you decide you don't want that friendship. Even then, I will remain true.

That's why I'm unforgettable. No matter what is done to quash the memory of who I am, my legend will live on. You can kill people. But you can't kill ideas. And it is the idea of me that makes me immortal--no vampire fangs needed.

In the absence of real people, ghosts are the silent witnesses to our lives. We all have our demons, but some of us have both. My ghosts are a collection of my past. And yours, too. I feel their cold touch. See their shadows pass in front of my television, or in the crack of the door near the hinges. Sometimes, they flit across the ceiling. But mostly, they just listen; it’s why they’re really here. A few have even attempted to give me advice. One in particular is very loud these days:“Dag-gum fool t’aint worth your worry…forget ‘im, darlin’.”He shakes his head, swats his hand in the empty air in disgust, turns, and limps away. Rather frustratingly. Then he turns back and begins to rail again, threatening to “tan that boy’s hide” while showing me a large metal belt buckle, and a number of images from the past that make us both cry. “My fault, darlin’," my ghost-friend says as he nods his head from side to side, "I did it…forgive me, girlie.”An older lady with a kindly face, her plump body in a blue flowered dress, stands behind my loudest ghost. She puts her hand on his shoulder as he wrinkles his brow, shaking his bowed head in utter grief. The scent of gardenias mingles with stale tobacco as she does. Almost every day this past fall, I would sit in my house, lonely, afraid, crying, pleading with my ghosts, “Please help me…please help me.” And they did. Just not in the way I expected.Or, did I…?My ghosts want me to go back to Germany. To visit my uncle’s grave again. So they can come with me and see people they once knew, too. They want me to walk through the same quaint Dutch village, into the chocolate shop, and taste the wonders they can sense through me. They want me to see my friend there, “a nice boy,” my grandmother promises. They want me to have fancy dinners, attend his hockey games, and drive the Autobahn again. But this time, to avoid that speeding ticket.Some urge me to go to Ireland. To see new things. Green hills. Rolling waters. High cliffs. And Celtic castles.Yet others whisper secrets about my future. Show me things I shouldn’t see. Like my death.All urge me to get out of bed though, to open my blinds, and pull myself from the murky depths threatening my once brilliant fire. My daughter, Emma, is there, too. She is very small, but very present. She stands with a tall, spare man who nods reverently at me. He appeared before she died. Her great grandfather, I think. He walked through the very mountains I was navigating when I lost her. A smaller, older woman—his mother, or perhaps a sister—is also there.My loudest ghost, sensing my concern, pipes in that Emma is safe with her “kin.” But they are not my kin. He reassures me he’ll keep an eye on her, too, because he wishes things were different: “Was so sure, darlin’…damn fool.” He shakes his head in disbelief. I nod at him in agreement.But the very tall man holding my daughter’s hand turns his back, letting me know his disdain for my loud friend. Either way, Emma’s safe while she waits. A beloved uncle and aunt emerge next, urging me on. The same aunt whose portrait hangs in my dining room. I was her doppelgänger. She is mine. Her husband, a broad, tall man with soulful eyes, a deep voice, and large, strong hands, stays near the portrait, guarding it. He smokes a cigar, holds a glass of bourbon up in greeting, and smiles, letting me know everything will be okay. He shows me that they were listening when I visited their graves during a trip to Boston this past July. Everyone was. And they’re all with me now. A crowd of eager relatives to usher me out the door, moving with me into the wider world. They will not let me fall. Or falter. Their promise, a six-pointed shield protecting my life: L’dor v’dor. From generation to generation. The irony of the dead encouraging me to live is not lost. But then again, the absurd defines human existence. Albert Camus takes the opportunity to speak softly from a dark corner, answering the question playing on a continuous loop in my mind, “Those who lack the courage will always find a philosophy to justify it.” His words further prove that (neither) the dead (nor the living) believe in the single soul I so dearly miss. My dream before I woke this morning promises a future, if not fleeting, meeting. One where I still love while the other stays lost. Even my faith is beginning to waver….If I could but forget…reprogram my brain. Rewire the memories so they no longer exist. Trump the last 15 months with the almost 42 years that preceded them. That’s why I write. To reverse the sad effects of the last year. To revise my world. Create a noble order out of the savage chaos. Being haunted helps. Even though not all the ghosts who haunt me are dead.Camus calls out from his corner once again:“Remember, we always deceive ourselves twice about the people we love—first to their advantage, then to their disadvantage.”Though I’m not certain what these final words are meant to convey, my muscles begin firing as if to anticipate movement. I’m not ready. And I am not willing. But perhaps, somehow, I am still able….

About the Author

Rebecca Housel, Ph.D., known as "The Pop Culture Professor" (TM), is an international best-selling author and editor in nine languages and 100 countries. Rebecca, listed in the Directory of American Poets & Writers for her work in nonfiction, was nominated by Prevention magazine essayist and best-selling author of The ImmortalLife of HenriettaLacks, Rebecca Skloot, to the National Association of Science Writers for her work on cancer. Rebecca has published with best-selling author of The Accidental Buddhist, Dinty Moore's literary nonfiction journal, Brevity, and with commercial publications like Redbook magazine and online journals like In Media Res. Her recent interviews appear in publications such as the LA Times, Esquire, USA TODAY, The Huffington Post, Inside HigherEd, Woman's World magazine, and Marie Claire as well as on FOX news, and NBC. Former President of the New York College English Association, Housel was a professor in both Atlanta and New York, teaching popular culture, film, creative writing, literature, and medical humanities. Dr. Housel currently works on the Editorial Advisory Boards for the Journal of PopularCulture and the Journal ofAmerican Culture; she has also worked as a reviewer for Syracuse University Press and Thomson Wadsworth. A writer of all genres, Housel has written and published both fiction and nonfiction in over ten books and 398 articles, essays, book chapters, book reviews, and encyclopedia entries.